


Notice Me Notice You

by MechanicalMomo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Teenlock, not really Johnlock but kinda, tumblr ramblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechanicalMomo/pseuds/MechanicalMomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock lays eyes on John for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Notice Me Notice You

**Author's Note:**

> Just a thing I did on tumblr a few weeks ago that I've become brave enough to post.

In the middle desk of the last row by the smudged, dusty windows, his feet kicked up on the busted radiator and his eyes glued to the clock above the blackboard, sat a rather disgruntled Sherlock Holmes. Only 8:17 and god the day was already a disappointment, surely that must be some sort of record?

Rolling his eyes and scrunching down into his seat, he let out an aggravated sigh as his gaze wandered over his fellow classmates. Their teacher, a frumpy, frizzy, uninteresting sort, all tablecloth patterns and orthopedic shoes and misplaced lesson plans, had stepped out into the hall two minutes ago and was speaking with the deputy head mistress, and already the noise level was rising. With a huff that ruffled his dark, messy curls, he glared as the clock inched forward.

 8:18.

Was it his imagination, or was time actually slowing down? He knew that was ridiculous, but how else could he describe it? Raking his eyes over his raucous schoolmates again, he zeroed in on their facial expressions and body language, but of course everything about them was just as boring as it was yesterday.

8:19.

Frustrated, he eyed the second door at the back of the classroom. Usually locked, but he'd escaped almost too easily several times before. Roll hadn't been called yet, he didn't have his things with him (he never did), and his classmates were either too caught up in their conversations to notice him or couldn't care less what he did (though some wearily envied and admired his skills).

But as he started to rise from his desk, the door opened again and he froze. As the deputy head stepped in, his eyes were drawn to the person that followed her though the door.

Blond hair, a little darker, almost golden, and a pair of eyes that reminded him of storm clouds over the ocean. The broad face, open and tan; the short build but broad shoulders and sturdy center that gave him an athletic look, even in his rumpled blue and white jumper. He looked a bit rugged, but his fingers were callused and ink stained and there was a faded splotch of paint right above his left knee--he was one of the 'sports and arts' kind, it seemed. He stood straight, his posture giving off an aura of confidence despite a touch of nervousness around his eyes and mouth. Then he smiled, 

Oh.

_Oh._

and surely the room hadn't gotten brighter, surely the sunbeam haloing John hadn't appeared simply because he was smiling, the thought was absolutely absurd!

The door shut again and Sherlock was snapped from his reverie. The deputy head was gone and the boy was heading to a desk pointed out to him absentmindedly by the teacher as she studied the seating chart. With a nod and a small quirk of his lips, the boy slung his bag under his desk and sat, taking in introductions from those that sat nearest to him. Shaking himself, Sherlock realized he was still half standing and quickly (and quietly, he hoped) sank back into his seat and attempted to observe the newcomer (what was his name, had he missed it?) more surreptitiously. Unfortunately he never got the chance, as class was finally called to order and students wandered back to their seats, a pale brunette (Mara? Molly? It didn't matter) sliding into her desk and blocking his view.

The lesson began, and Sherlock tried several times to sneak a glance without looking too obvious, but failed. In his agitation he almost missed the teacher asking the boy a question.

"Well, John," she blinked, adjusting her glasses. "Can you tell me where you left off in your last school?"

John. So his name was John. Somehow, Sherlock felt that it was too normal, too boring for him. His musings were cut short by the boy-- _John's_ \--response. His voice was steady, his tone mellow, and once again Sherlock had to shake himself. Taking a breath, he stared intently out the window, but he was hyper-aware of John's presence and could not concentrate. From the reflection in the glass he could see that while he didn't have a good view of John from where he sat, the blond boy could see him from his reclined position in his chair.

With studied indifference, Sherlock shifted in his chair and made it squeak and scuff across the floor a bit, watching the window for a hint of a reaction.

Nothing.

Frowning thoughtfully, Sherlock shifted again with a little cough.

Not even a glance.

Huffing again, Sherlock ruffled his curls with his fingers and lolled back in his seat. After a few minutes he sat up and stretched elegantly, casually turning his head to the side, and was irritated to find that John was in rather close conversation with a giggling auburn-haired girl (Sandra? Sarah? Oh, who cared?)

Slumping over his desktop, Sherlock scowled at the blackboard, where the teacher was writing out a problem from her book and going over what they learnt yesterday. Why did he care what this boy thought anyway, he thought moodily. No need to impress him, not that he was trying, of course! Who needs his attention, the thought was absurd, he sniffed to himself. As she finished scrawling down the formula, she set down her chalk and turned. As she opened her mouth to ask for volunteers, Sherlock, without thinking, blurted out the answer.

Stunned, she, (and several of his classmates, including John, he noted victoriously), stared agape at him, caught completely off-guard. Despite his top marks, she had never known him to participate without being goaded into it. Gesturing to the board, she regained her composure and invited him up to show his work. Schooling his face into something he hoped was nonchalant, he slunk towards the front of the room and picked up a piece of chalk and began solving the problem for the class to see.  He explained the steps taken and finished rather quickly, stepping back and turning to face the class. Clearing her throat, the teacher nodded and milked the situation for all it was worth, giving him four more problems, which he solved with equal ease. She finally released him when he finished the last one, and as he began to saunter back to his seat, he heard John mutter  "that...that was _brilliant_!"

Slipping into his chair, he caught a glimpse of John's awed face, his hand stilled over the doodle he had going on in his notebook.

Grinning, Sherlock turned his face back to the window, hiding it before anyone could see the surprised blush on his sharp, pale cheeks.

One of John's sketches had been of him.


End file.
